


Of Cold Mornings and Warm Beds

by theravcnboys



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester - Freeform, Inspired by Twist and Shout - gabriel & standbyme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:26:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theravcnboys/pseuds/theravcnboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thoughts on how things could've played out any differently. Inspired by gabriel and standbyme's glorious Twist and Shout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Cold Mornings and Warm Beds

**Author's Note:**

> Out of sessions of wallowing in depression, I've thought about AUs on Twist and Shout, which was also an AU, which sort of made this an AU-ception of a ficlet. Works for me.

_It's been a while since I've looked at him like this._

I stared at his face intently, noticing how the lines before seemed like they simply aren't there now. His face looked so young, calm, and radiant; nothing like what he looked like in the past days as I remember. I felt a cold feeling down my stomach as I stare at him. He suddenly woke up, and flashed a dreary look at me, his face lighting up with what seemed like contentment. I held my gaze at him. We're a few inches apart and yet I feel like he's not here. Finally, he smiled a small smile and slipped back to sleep as I brush the thought out of my head.

I helped myself out of bed, careful not to wake him up again. My feet brushed the tiled floor and the cold sensation rushed through me, replacing the warmth of our bed's. I walked my way to the living room and noticed how unruly things are even if they're perfectly in place. The place is awfully quiet, as if an angel swept over it and forbid any kind of noise and slowed down time. Amidst all the war going on abroad, I don't even think this kind of peacefulness is possible. I immediately noticed the newspaper from last month, with a Polaroid camera on top of it, that was placed neatly atop the kitchen table. I paid no more attention to it as I go directly to the turntable to play our favorite record. I can't help but grin at the thought of us arguing about these things. I like songs about love, specially Elvis', while he likes more of the rock ones but surprisingly, this song didn't need any arguing. Elvis' cool voice played slowly and silently, almost whispering the words, as I continue to strut my way to the kitchen. I'm planning to go for coffee today and for an odd moment, I wanted something with milk even though he's the one who usually likes it. But as soon as I thought about it, something struck me and left me standing there, looking into nothingness, with a hollow feeling inside me. I snapped back to consciousness as I heard the whistling of the kettle I put on a while ago and forced my body to continue my work.

I sat down on my usual chair and placed two cups of coffee, pushing the other one slowly until it's placed in his place. I hadn't noticed him go here. I watched him from across the table, still with that serene look in his face, while Elvis' voice is still in the background, with the song nearing to its end. He smiled again as he noticed me staring at him. The kind of smile that makes me want to cry.

I lifted my cup and drew it near me, while his remained steamy, untouched. I was sipping my coffee when he suddenly pushed the newspaper towards me. And that's when everything turned upside down. My breathing got unstable and my body went numb and now crying seemed to be the most appropriate thing to do. The record continued. I forced myself to reach the paper and it clung limply on my hands as I drag it before me. It had been a month since I received it and I left it lying about, waiting for everything written on it to change.

The headline is, of course, about the war. Every article is about the American troops versus the Vietnam ones and now everything comes back again and I force everything back out and I'm crying as my eyes are focused on his face in the newspaper among the faces of every person in his troop, smiling just like he was a while ago. A photograph like this doesn't do his lovely face justice and I lift my head to look across the table again and silently pray that he's still there.

And he is, still smiling the same smile and now I smile back, tears streaming down my face as I swallow a lump down my throat. I stilled my eyes on him as everything else got blurry and I saw his lips silently moving, mouthing an _"I love you"_ to me. My smile grew wider but my voice failed me as the only thing that came out as I open my mouth was a miserable sob. The lump on my throat's back again and this time it seemed to be choking me 'cause all I managed to do was mouth an _"I love you, too"_ back.

Just then, I held out my hand to touch him, but was stopped midway as my hand hovered atop where the Polaroid camera is. I picked it up, wishing to capture this moment with him sitting across the table while our song plays in the background. I lifted the camera until it meets my eyes and looked through the viewfinder. _He's here..._ Relief rushed through me even though I know better. Still, I took a picture and the flash took the room by surprise. I hear the picture come out of the camera and I lowered my head as I put the camera at the table again. I tilted my head slightly to breathe and calm myself down but nothing helps. The crying won't stop. And it still continued as I picked up the picture I just took only to find a photo of a steaming coffee on top of a table, and an empty chair... **_Now he isn't._**


End file.
